


Making Me Crawl In the Dust Again

by sinfuldesire_archivist



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-07-04
Updated: 2006-07-04
Packaged: 2018-09-03 04:25:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,974
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8696530
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sinfuldesire_archivist/pseuds/sinfuldesire_archivist
Summary: Sam's real motivation for leaving for college.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Note from the Sinful Desire archivists: this story was originally archived at [Sinful-Desire.org](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Sinful_Desire). To preserve the archive, we began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in November 2016. We e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [Sinful Desire collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/sinfuldesire/profile).

**Title:** Making Me Crawl In the Dust Again  
**Fandom:** Supernatural  
**Author:** [ ](http://keepaofthecheez.livejournal.com/profile)[**keepaofthecheez**](http://keepaofthecheez.livejournal.com/)  
**Beta(s):** Huge thanks to [ ](http://impertinence.livejournal.com/profile)[**impertinence**](http://impertinence.livejournal.com/), [ ](http://l-vera01.livejournal.com/profile)[**l_vera01**](http://l-vera01.livejournal.com/), and [ ](http://wendy.livejournal.com/profile)[**wendy**](http://wendy.livejournal.com/) who were completely responsible for making this the non-suck fest that it is.  
**Pairing:** Sam/Dean  
**Rating:** NC-17 for language and incest.  
**Prompt:** Wincest; Top!Sammy and DirtyTalking!Dean and sex against walls or over the hood of the Impala.  
**Requested by:** [ ](http://rachel-shanz.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://rachel-shanz.livejournal.com/)**rachel_shanz**  
**Summary:** Sam’s real motivation for leaving for college.  
**Word Count:** 1, 877  
**Spoilers:** 1x01, but pre-Pilot.   
**Disclaimer:** Oh, if only.  
  
  
  
  
So, Sam had a tree house.  
  
It wasn’t anything spectacular…just a moldy, dusty, broken down fragment left-over by whatever family had lived at the address before it had become a Winchester hideout. It was a constant source of mockery where Dean was concerned, but then that was really nothing new.  
  
Growing up Sam hadn’t had the luxury of friends, of freedom, but he’d had a fucking _tree house_. It represented innocence…something he’d lost before he’d ever had the chance to fully grasp it. It was where he went when he needed to retreat from the absolute disaster of his life. When things finally became too much to handle, as they always did.  
  
The hunting. The killing.   
  
His family.  
  
He sank lower into the small cot, staring up at the ceiling and absently categorizing the water stains that decorated the roof like splatters of finger-paint. During this time of year he could never stay up here long because the dust wreaked havoc on his allergies, but he had a good fifteen minutes at least before he needed fresh air.  
  
Before he had to face anyone.  
  
“Running away, huh?”  
  
Sam glanced up, noted Dean’s shadow in the crawl space, and groaned. “What the hell do you want?”  
  
“Like you give a damn,” Dean returned, wobbling slightly as he finished climbing the ladder and came inside. He cursed as he stood, nearly knocking his head against a low-placed wooden beam.   
  
Sam watched him with a mixture of concern and exasperation. He knew that gleam in his brother’s eyes and what it meant – Dean was drunk, or well on his way to being there, and he wanted to pick a fight.  
  
And Sam was feeling just ornery enough to give him one.  
  
“Dad’s gone out,” Dean continued conversationally, voice slightly garbled as he tilted his head to study Sam in the pale moonlight that filtered in through the cracks in the wall. Sam knew what he was thinking. Hell, it wasn’t hard. Dean only thought about _one thing._   
  
Whatever Daddy told him.  
  
It both exasperated and infuriated Sam, who had long ago given up on expecting any sort of loyalty where his older brother was concerned. When Sam and Dad got into it, Dean took the old man’s side.  
  
Or he disappeared.  
  
Case in point, that same evening. Sam had anticipated their father’s reaction to his plans for school, knew almost verbatim the words he would spit at him when Sam explained, finally, that he had no plans to continue the bloodthirsty quest to find the demon that was responsible for his mother’s death.  
  
Whereas Dean…he’d been crazy enough to think Dean might actually have been _happy_ for him. That he might have been glad to see something _Sam_ wanted actually coming true for a change. Sam had told Dean countless times his plans for the future, and while his brother had never exactly encouraged him, he’d never come right out and disagreed with him either.  
  
But when that night’s argument had heated up between he and Dad, Dean had slipped out quietly and hadn’t reappeared until now. That was enough of an answer for Sam.  
  
He turned his head and pierced Dean with a bored “and I should care, why?” expression, hoping Dean would take the hint and leave before Sam could let loose all the pent-up rage and frustration that had been building all night – hell, for eighteen _years_.   
  
No such luck. Dean just stared back at him, brow lifted and eyes heavy-lidded and glazed.  
  
“Here we go,” Sam gritted between his teeth, eyes rolling. “How drunk _are_ you?”  
  
Dean paused, and then flashed his teeth. Sam was immediately blindsided by the force of that smile, and found himself squirming uncomfortably on the cot.  
  
Studying the faded Spiderman poster plastered to one of the walls, Dean called out in a carefully casual tone, “So, you’re just gonna leave?”  
  
“Yeah.” Short. Succinct.   
  
Dean’s fingers clenched around a metal flask, and he turned around to face Sam again. The shadows in his eyes seemed more pronounced; his lips flattened together and a muscle began to twitch in his jaw. “So if something happens, I should just…what…send you a postcard?”  
  
And just like that, Sam’s anger began to fade. It wasn’t often that Dean actually let his true feelings shine through, but when he did…it was hard to do anything but feel sympathetic. “Dean, don’t be like that,” he sighed, sitting up on his elbows to regard his brother through the shaggy hair that fell across his brow.   
  
But Dean wasn’t interested in being consoled. Eyes flashing, nostrils flaring, his brother took a step toward him, nearly vibrating with tension as his voice rose. “Be like _what_ , Sam? Pissed off that your fucking college shit means more to you than…this family?”   
  
There was an unspoken _me_ in there that Sam didn’t miss and Dean didn’t try to hide. During a moment of shocked silence in which Sam struggled to get his bearings, Dean shook his head and made a rough sound.   
  
“But it’s always about _you_ , isn’t it?” he murmured in a silky, mocking tone. Dean’s eyes remained focused intensely on him, and Sam had the distinct feeling that Dean was challenging him to do… _something_. “You’re not happy, so you make everyone else miserable. Grow the fuck up, Sam.”   
  
“You’re a son of a bitch,” Sam muttered in a shaking tone, curling his fingers into his palms before he did something that he couldn’t take back. Wouldn’t _want_ to take back.  
  
“Takes one to know one, Sammy.”  
  
That fucking smirk was what did it, Sam would think later. There were shadows in his eyes, but a goddamn smile on his face. And Sam abruptly had enough. Before his brain fully grasped what he intended to do, he had Dean up against the wall of the tree-house, ignoring the pained hiss from his brother’s throat.   
  
“You’re an asshole.”  
  
“You’re a selfish prick,” Dean returned through his teeth, raw anger coating every syllable with thick strokes. And yet, his hips pressed back against Sam and every muscle in his body quivered in anticipation. “Goddamn it, just _do_ it.”  
  
Sam swore softly, fingers flexing despite his desire for restraint. He could nearly _taste_ Dean’s eagerness, taste the salty-rough patch of skin just below his jaw that would cause him to jerk and moan and claw. The way it always had.  
  
He was not going to fuck his big brother in a tree house some kids used to play hide and seek in.   
  
Dean moved, just enough, and Sam went blind.  
  
_Oh, fuck, yes I am._  
  
“Hold onto something,” he instructed hoarsely, the sound of metal teeth ripping apart as he reached down to loosen the waist of his pants.   
  
“What am I, stupid?” Dean muttered, fingers fumbling with his own clothes. “Just hurry the fuck up.”  
  
“Can’t you just shut _up_ ,” Sam bit off, blood pumping thick and heavy through his veins. He was shaking, sweating, and so goddamn hard that it was taking every last modicum of his strength not to go fucking crazy.  
  
Dean was making impatient sounds, rolling his hips against Sam’s dick and hanging his head between his shoulders as he challenged and begged Sam to do things to him that were dirty. And nasty. Things Sam wanted to do so bad he ached.  
  
He knew this for exactly what it was. Dean was pissed at him, and he was pissed at Dean. And neither one of them was getting out of this without cutting some scars deep into the other.  
  
That exact thought in mind, Sam leaned forward and bit that spot right under Dean’s jaw, hand slipping around Dean’s waist and hooking into his half-undone zipper.   
  
Dean let out a hoarse chuckle, forehead pressed up against the wall as he twisted his neck to eye Sam. “That all you got?” he gritted out, lips curled back into a smile that sent shockwaves down Sam’s spine. It was dangerous, and heady, and _goddamn Dean_ for _knowing_ how fucking gorgeous he was.  
  
Sam dropped his hand further to take Dean’s cock, relishing the long-suffering moan that slipped from his brother’s throat. He nuzzled Dean’s neck, breath coming heavy and ragged as he managed, “Got something?”  
  
“No, just do it.”   
  
Sam blinked, momentarily taken aback. Dean _always_ had something. Hell, he could still hear his brother’s voice explaining the importance of protection before Sam had ever been ready to use any.  
  
_Gotta look out for yourself first, Sammy._  
  
Sam didn’t linger on the revelation, because suddenly Dean’s hand was snaking around between their bodies and squeezing him _rightfuckingthere_ and any hesitation he might have felt evaporated.  
  
Working Dean’s jeans down his legs, Sam lifted a palm and licked it, legs shaking as he slicked himself up. He had to bend his knees to get a good angle, and by then Dean was mumbling words of encouragement and pleasure in that same sexy-slurred voice that was nearly Sam’s undoing.  
  
His first thrust was vicious, a pointed reminder that this wasn’t about pleasure. It was fucked-up and wrong, and there was a special place in Hell for both of them, but _good Christ_ Sam couldn’t really concentrate on that when Dean was so tight and fucking perfect around him.  
  
“Harder, you pussy!” Dean growled, pushing back into Sam. “I’m not one of your sweet little girlfriends…give me more…”  
  
Dean had always had a fucking filthy mouth.  
  
Sam’s teeth sank into his lower lip, coppery blood coating his tongue as he dropped his hands to Dean’s hips. Pulled. Tugged.   
  
“Missed this,” Dean murmured, tone slurred and dreamy. “God, Sam, tell me you don’t fucking love this.”  
  
Problem was…he did. And thus the crux of the matter, and the real reason why he had to get the hell out of there. He wasn’t leaving because of the hunting, or the killing, or even his Dad’s constant criticism. He was leaving because being around Dean was slowly starting to drive away every lingering shred of normalcy he possessed.   
  
So instead of answering with words that Dean would be able to toss back in his face at a later time, Sam replied by digging his fingers into Dean’s waist. Driving harder, dropping his head into the crook of his brother’s shoulder and nearly sobbing with relief when he came in a sharp burst of agonizing bliss.  
  
Broken oaths spilled from Dean’s mouth, his hand slapping against the wall as Sam dragged him closer. “Fuck…yes… _good_ , now…”  
  
Sam’s knees buckled and then they were hurtling toward the floor. Dean landed on top of Sam with a sputtered “Shit!” – dust kicking up in the air around them. Sam sucked in a breath sharply, eyes watering from the impact of the cold, hard floor at his back.  
  
“Get off me,” he managed, all at once feeling sick and ridiculous. He shoved at Dean, arms and legs flailing as his brother struggled to right himself.   
  
Neither could meet the other’s eyes.  
  
Sam stared at the wall that he’d basically just fucked his brother up against, and his stomach began a long and twisted recoil. “Tomorrow,” he began, voice low and numb, “I’m still leaving, Dean.”  
  
There was no answer, and when he finally looked over, Dean wasn’t there.   
  
And that was pretty much that.


End file.
